Ride, Cowboy, Ride!

by Baxter Black

  Cooney nonchalantly wandered back to the booth. “I met somebody, and I’m gonna catch a ride.”

  “Fine,” said Straight smiling. “Me, I’m going home to bed. Today was probably the best day of my life, Cooney. And you’ll always be in it. I don’t want it to end with me on a barroom floor somewhere or wakin’ up tomorrow morning with a hangover and someone I don’t even know.”

  Cooney looked at him as if he’d just declined a huge box of chocolates, a date with Pam Anderson, or a year’s supply of Copenhagen. “I guess we have different ways of celebrating,” said Cooney.

  “See you tomorrow,” said Straight.

  Cooney walked the few steps to where Lick and Teddie Arizona were conversing.

  “There’s someone out there for you . . .” Lick was saying to her.

  She saw Cooney coming. “Oh, there is, all right. I’ve got a string full of dandies. About half of them are looking for a trust fund. Not a one of ’em like you. That’s good and bad, ya know. But every now and then I get this deep heart-achin’ yearning for you, ya good-fer-nuthin’ cowboy.”

  She was smiling. Lick took her in his arms and held her a moment, then released her.

  It’s funny how things work out. Just goes to show that people with the ability to let bygones be bygones can actually miss the pebble in their shoe.

  With a wave, Teddie Arizona turned and started walking toward the exit. Cooney caught up with her. When they went through the big glass doors he noticed the short girl in the big coat, fur hat, and sunglasses fall in behind them.

  At 10:45 p.m. Cooney heard a knock on the door. He answered it in his jeans, untucked shirt, and bare feet. He had taken a two-minute shower, including washing his hair and shaving.

  Pica slid through the open door, dropped her nylon bag, and fell into his arms. Whatever tidal wave had been building burst over the seawalls and down their backs. They fell over onto the foot of the big bed that took up most of the space in the small hotel room. He lay on his back and held her.

  CHAPTER 63

  December 9–10

  Pica and Cooney Plan an

  Attack on Oui Oui

  Cooney held Pica. She began crying. She cried until she was drained.

  She had been on the razor’s edge of hope, revenge, helplessness, and exhaustion for several days. She had been unable to sleep, even at Teddie Arizona’s place. It had been a trip of soaring bravado highs to whimpering, snotty-nosed lows.

  She crashed. She allowed herself to crash, to let go, knowing somehow that redemption was within her grasp. She fell asleep in Cooney’s arms.

  It wasn’t what Cooney had expected. In the short hours since she had walked up to him at Thomas and Mack Arena his mind had flipped through the pages of many possibilities. Her loss of control was not one of them. But he was capable of some depth and compassion, and they rose to the top.

  He slid out from under her, pulled off her boots, and covered her up to her ears. The television volume was down low. He left it on to help distract him from trying to guess the answers to a bed full of questions. He lay on top of the bedcover beside her in his jeans and finally went to sleep himself. She slept for ten hours with hardly a movement.

  Pica woke up to the sound of a door being closed. It took a few moments to gather the whats and wheres of her present situation. In a hotel room, in a bed, fully dressed, in Las Vegas, on the trail of Oui Oui Reese, and Cooney Bedlam was standing at the end of the bed.

  “Coffee?” he offered.

  She sat silent a moment longer, ’til she booted her consciousness up to speed. “Oh,” she sighed, “that would be nice.”

  He gave her a paper cup of the fancy type available in the lobby. Then asked, “So tell me all about it. What’s the plan? What can I do?”

  “How ’bout you let me clean up? Is my bag here? Oh, there it is. Then I will tell you the whole story and my plan, hey. We’re gonna get her for good.”

  “What say I order you some breakfast?” he said. “It should be here by the time you’re spiffy.”

  “Spiffy?” she smiled. “I think I can do spiffy this morning!”

  It was 10:45 a.m. when the waiter brought up the breakfast. He brought it in, spread it out on the table. Cooney had him leave the plate covers on because Pica hadn’t appeared. He signed the check and tipped the waiter extra. He was a good tipper. It was a Lick lesson.

  She came out of the bath looking like a pink NRA doll with fluffy hair. From her bag she’d selected her wardrobe. It looked like she was going hunting! Jeans, lace-up workboots, a unisex camo shirt that buttoned down the front, and leather belt with an olive-drab cell phone holster.

  Through breakfast he listened to her plan. She had good information that Oui Oui Reese and her connections in the Bahamas had planted, or arranged to be planted, endangered feathers in her suitcase while she was staying a few days in the Caribbean.

  “It is also a good possibility that Oui Oui has been delivered smuggled feathers and/or endangered contraband to her home in Denver on occasion,” said Pica. “That doesn’t sound coincidental to me. I’m making a jump, an assumption,” said Pica, “that she is the kind of person who would flaunt these treasures or at least carry some talisman or souvenir of her possessions with her. I don’t know, but my only other option is that she has them in her apartment in Denver, but I’m here, and I plan to break into her hotel room. Thanks to you and Straight I have that info.

  “I know you want to come with me, but you can’t. Don’t argue. I know what I’m doing, and one other person to worry about would limit my opportunities. Besides, it would make you an accomplice.

  “I will reconnoiter her hallway and wait until she leaves for the rodeo. I assume she goes down at four or five o’clock in the afternoon, but, regardless, it shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes to search her bags or clothes for some evidence that she is hooked to the feather smuggling.

  “I’m not sure what I’ll do with it, but I expect I will see you at the rodeo tonight. I’m too conspicuous to, you know, come talk to you, but just know I’ll be watching when they give you that world champ buckle.

  “I bought a cell phone from a stranger. In Las Vegas they don’t ask any questions if you offer them a little cash. If all goes well I should be able to give you a call by five, maybe six, anyway. So, whattya think, hey?” she concluded.

  “You need to know that Oui Oui has a bodyguard,” said Cooney. “I don’t mean File but another one. Straight said he’s met him. He has a Spanish accent. As for your plan, it sounds pretty loose to me.”

  “It is loose. I call it flexible,” she said. “I can cover a lot of conditions that arise.”

  “You know that OTT, your old LIP LASTER sponsor, is throwing a big bash tonight as soon as the NFR finals are over. It’s at the South Point. Straight is back on their payroll and will be there shinin’. You know he’s in the lead to win the average. Could be a great night for him. And the star of the show is Oui Oui.”

  Pica hooded her brow. Not if I can help it, she thought, taking a bite of peanut buttered toast.

  “Yep,” continued Cooney, “Oui Oui is doing a full hour: music, singin’, dancin’, and who knows what else. Straight thinks it’s her shot at stardom.”

  Pica finished her chewing and reached across the table for Cooney’s hand.

  “I want you to know how much you have meant to me, how much you mean to me. For never doubting my innocence, for not trying to take over my life or take advantage of my situation.

  “I’m not a very trusting person. I’ve never been in a serious relationship with anyone, just kid stuff on occasion. I can’t put into words, pretty words like you can, how I feel. Even right now when I’m planning to do something that may sound ridiculous or stupid, that might take me clear out of your life forever, I still don’t know what to say to you.” She finis
hed and held his gaze.

  What kind of hero would let the love of his life go off on a hare-brained, dangerous, patched-together scheme like Pica is planning . . . By herself? Especially while he was “doing lunch” with a group of businessmen in cowboy hats.

  First, loyal reader, you must consider their relationship. It was still basically at the level of a handshake. There was something there, all right, but not much time had been allowed to pass between them to get into deeper feelings. Most of their intimate conversations involved discussing her “smuggling case.”

  He doesn’t sound much like Romeo, mostly because she was no shrinking Juliet! He knew he was not on solid ground making any demands. There was a good chance that if he “put his foot down” and ordered her to stop, she’d tell him to take a hike! She had too much invested in clearing herself right now. And that took precedence over whatever was between the two of them.

  Was she using him? If so, that would not bother him in the least, but maybe that’s what was bothering her.

  “If I were the eloquent one,” Cooney said, “I would do everything I could to talk you out of this crazy idea. Why don’t you just go to the police or the FBI or get a lawyer or talk to OTT or tell the world or run away with me and change our names and live in New Guinea?

  “But you’re backed in a corner. I know it, I can see it. And you’re one of the toughest people I’ve ever met. So, since I can’t stop you and can’t go with you, I’m stuck waiting.”

  Cooney shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll probably be goin’ to the rodeo grounds about four. Rodeo doesn’t start ’til 6:45 or so. But I want to hear from you as soon as you’re out of . . . as soon as you’re in the clear. Don’t leave me hangin’. Please.

  “It’s noon,” he said, looking at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting, sponsor lunch obligation. Just leave the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Here’s a key to the room.”

  Cooney rose. She got up and came around the table and stepped into his arms. They kissed tenderly. He put his hands on her arms and stood her in front of him. “You can do it. I know you can. I’ll be your lifeline . . . you call, I’ll come.”

  “You might be busy,” she said, thinking of tonight’s finals performance.

  At that moment he could clearly see his future. It was a photograph: She was standing beside him in a driveway in front of their house. There were mountains in the background. She was smiling. “You call,” he said, “I’ll come,” then kissed her again and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER 64

  December 10, Late Afternoon

  Pica Gets Caught in Oui Oui’s Room

  At 4:55 p.m. Oui Oui left her room carrying two large bags. Pica had been staking it out since 2:15. Pica called once about three o’clock posing as housekeeping and asked Oui Oui if she wanted her room cleaned. Oui Oui said she would be leaving about five or five-thirty. Anytime after that housekeeping could have admittance.

  At 5:35 p.m. Pica called the hotel desk impersonating Oui Oui and announced that she was leaving the hotel and asked that her room be cleaned right away because she was coming back soon. Within fifteen minutes the hotel maid came pushing her cart down the hallway. Using her universal pass key she entered, then propped the door open and began to clean.

  The hallway was empty and long. Pica made several passes waiting for the right moment.

  There were two bathrooms in the suite: one in the big room, the other in the bedroom. With the timing of a NASA Challenger launch, Pica scooted around the cart, skirted the bedroom door, and hid in the guest closet.

  Twenty minutes later the maid left the room shining. Pica stepped out of the closet and looked around. Her hunter’s upbringing led her to sweep the surroundings, scanning for wild game or signs.

  She was standing inside a large suite. The door through which she had entered was on a wall with no windows. The opposite wall had expansive glass windows and a sliding door that faced to the inside of the hotel.

  Satisfied she was alone, she explored. Bedroom, guest closet, and bathroom doors were on the wall to her left, a single closed door to the adjoining hotel room was on her right. The two standing lamps, desk, lamp table, sofa, chairs, coffee table, large mirror, and entertainment center were tasteful and functional. It was so feng shui.

  Pica walked to the window and drew the curtain part-way back. The sliding glass door opened onto a four-foot-wide ledge with protective railing. The twenty-eight-story hotel was designed as a large upright tube with an enormous convex, round ceiling that served as a movie screen. Video technology could project the appearance of the sky at any time or any weather condition the operator would choose.

  For the most part the projection mimicked a sunny day with blue sky and fluffy clouds twenty-four–seven.

  For special shows or presentations the hotel would re-create nighttime, complete with astronomically correct, brilliantly laid stars and the phasing moon. It was its own virtual planet.

  The suite had given Pica no clues about Oui Oui and the feathers, but Pica had saved the best for last. She stepped into Oui Oui’s bedroom. At least the bed was made. Pica walked to the sliding glass window in the bedroom and noted it had its own outside balcony. She stepped out onto it.

  Looking down from her place on the twelfth floor, she could see the top of a jungle. The lush canopy reached up to the eighth floor. It was dense, very green, and warm. She was able to see the other balconies lining the inside circular wall from the canopy level clear to the top.

  For those adventurous visitors a zipline from one side to the other began at the tenth floor and soon disappeared into the foliage. The zipline platform, which was two stories directly beneath Oui Oui’s room, was reached by its own elevator from the lobby.

  Back in the bedroom Pica began a methodical search for any clue. She was a good tracker, according to her father, and didn’t miss much. What she saw confirmed that this was most certainly a woman’s camp. It was apparent that the maids were instructed not to mess with the mess, just clean the bathroom and make the bed.

  The opened closet doors were burgeoning with clothes. Shoes were scattered on the floor. The bathroom counter was heavy with lotions, potions, creams, utensils, applicators, pills, spills, and open kits.

  What Pica was looking for was not perfectly clear to her, but she would know it when she saw it. Evidence. She was looking for evidence that in some way would connect Oui Oui to the smuggling frame-up. She started with the closet. It was lined hanger to hanger with a wide assortment of dresses, blouses, pants, jackets, robes, and lounge wear. Pulling out a flaming-red cocktail dress, Pica held it up to herself in front of a mirror. It was so big that the long shoulder straps and flouncy bodice made her look like she was wearing Shakespeare’s shorts with no top.

  In the back corner at the end of the pole was a foldable simulated-leather clothes bag. Unzipping it part-way she encountered a plastic dry cleaner wrap. Pica pulled the bag out by the hanger and laid it on the bed. It contained an absolutely beautiful garment. A jacket, she thought, then lifted up the plastic. It shone with almost fluorescent colors in the window’s virtual sunlight. She lifted up the bag and had her first look at a halter top made from the Tetuchtan Pavo Real.

  Her only point of reference was a photograph from the Internet she had seen portraying colors of the Glandular Y Cock. Although the feathers in the waist-length halter top were not the same type as had been found in Pica’s bag, they were similar enough. It’s the proof I’m looking for, she thought fiercely, or at least close enough. She replaced the halter top in the leatherine bag and zipped it up.

  Pica straightened and looked around the room, then glanced at her watch: 5:41 p.m. Once again she returned to the closet, riffled through the remaining clothes, and looked on the upper shelf, which held the iron.

  A search of the drawers revealed nothing useful. In the bathroom she
looked through the drawers and three makeup cases. In the bottom of the third makeup case was a thin plastic envelope containing photographs.

  Pica heard something clump. She became instantly alert. It sounded like a door . . . faraway, maybe in the next hotel room. She waited a full twenty seconds, not moving. Relaxing, she pulled the color photographs out of the envelope. Surprise, surprise. The top snapshot showed Oui Oui on a sleek boat deck, on turquoise water, posing against a horizon of palm trees and a resort waterfront.

  The colors were tropical blues, greens, and tans. Oui Oui was modeling the very same garment that now lay on the hotel room bed. In the picture the feathers sparkled iridescent in the sun. The photo was full length. Oui Oui was tanned. Her streaked golden hair was flying loosely in the wind. An orchid was pinned in her tresses. Her left leg was straight, her right slightly bent against the breeze, heel cocked against left ankle. She had her back to the photographer, looking over her shoulder. Her chin lay against the feathers, and her lips were pursed seductively. The flower and the feathers were all she was wearing. Pica noted that she was tanned all over.

  Flipping through the photos, she found one wherein the feathered halter top could be seen from the front. Oui Oui had modestly covered herself with what looked like a wine glass or diving goggles; it was hard to say. Pica kept this photo and the one from the top and replaced the others into the makeup kit. She then unzipped the garment bag enough to slip in the photos. Her watch now read 6:14 p.m.

  Her agreement was to call Cooney every thirty minutes to check in. She was late. Folding the bag and swinging it over her shoulder, she looked down at her cell phone and punched in Cooney’s code number. While it dialed she began gathering the two photos and turned to the bed to buckle the bag with the feathered halter top. Cooney answered.